Growing Strawberries with ADHD: What 100 Unplanned Plants Taught Me About Gardening, Patience, and Letting Go
One Strawberry Plant, watercolor and ink on paper—a little visual love letter to this journey I created. You can view it in the store if it speaks to you.
I didn’t plan to adopt 100 strawberry plants.
And yet, here we are: my patio full of pots, and my brain full of panic. When my CSA farmer invited me to dig up a few extras, I didn’t expect to leave with what seemed like a hundred. How many strawberries does one plant even grow?! Keep reading for a bit of garden wisdom, a few laughs, and a whole lot of honesty.
I never say no to free plants. So when the offer came, I threw on my boots and headed to the farm. We spent the afternoon on our hands and knees, gently freeing strawberry crowns from the earth in the cool spring air of western North Carolina. It was the first time I’d had my hands in the soil in months, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. There’s actual science showing that touching soil releases “happy” chemicals in the brain, but honestly, I’ve always known that from experience. I’ve felt it.
We talked about the toll Hurricane Helene had taken on her farm, on my land, and on everything in between. My property still bears the scars: damaged trees, shifting light patterns, and a wild tangle of challenges. Nestled on a slope and in a wooded bowl, it’s breathtaking but far from easy. I’ve spent the past year applying the first principle of permaculture, which is to observe the land through all seasons. I’ve tracked where the snow melts first and where sunlight lingers longest. I’ve also learned the paths of deer, rabbits, and my neighbor’s mischievous goats.
Accessibility is another major challenge. The sunniest part of my land lies uphill behind the house, but it needs terracing and a proper trail before it can be used for gardening. Right now, there’s no way to drive onto the property without cutting down trees and constructing a new road, which simply isn’t an option. Compost deliveries must be dropped at the edge of the property, requiring a long haul by hand or cart. These limitations are real. But they’re also typical of gardening and homesteading, where solutions come from adapting to the land rather than forcing it to fit a rigid design.
I’ve realized I don’t need to reinvent the wheel. I don’t have to clear every tree and build open fields like my neighbors with their cows and corn. Instead, I’m leaning into what this temperate, shaded forest offers me possibilities like forest farming, berry shrubs, fruit trees, and mushrooms. Working with the land, rather than against it, has become my north star.
My ADHD shows up clearly in my gardening style. That’s how I ended up with 80 strawberry plants, no planting plan, and none of the proper ingredients like perlite or compost. But the strawberries sparked movement. I didn’t guilt myself. I misted them, made a list, and got what I needed. Eventually, I potted them up with worm compost and dipped them in a mycorrhizal mix to give them a microbial boost. I was especially grateful for the stash of plastic containers I had hauled across the country. People questioned why I kept them, but this was the moment they became priceless.
Another recent ADHD adventure sent me spiraling into Reems Creek Nursery (which, alongside hardware and art stores, is one of my personal candy shops). I picked up what I thought were two asparagus crowns to companion plant with the strawberries… only to realize later I’d accidentally bought twenty.
That little surprise turned into a full garden bed project—which involved ivy removal, compost sourcing chaos, and a bit of ritual magic. It deserves its own post. [Read that story here ]
Container gardening has become my current path. It allows me to move forward gently while I build the infrastructure the land needs to produce a successful and manageable bio diverse ecosystem. Right now, I’m still shuffling tomatoes, cucumbers, and tender perennials indoors at night as the temperatures dip below 50 degrees. Many of the strawberries are still in their nursery pots. I’ve lost about 20 percent of them, which is okay. The rest are thriving on large repurposed tote lids that act as makeshift drip trays. Their resilience gives me hope.
So how many strawberries does one plant yield? On average, one healthy plant can produce about a quart of fruit per season (roughly 50 to 100 berries with good care). They’re herbaceous perennials, part of the rose family, and often the first fruit to ripen in spring. Their seeds grow on the outside of the fruit, and they reproduce through runners that send out baby plants nearby. Each new plant is a clone of the mother. Gently dividing those runners is how I ended up with so many plants!
Strawberries, Asparagus, and Gooseberries with a Tablecloth by Adriaen Coorte
I recently found a still life from 1705 that quietly captured everything I’ve been fumbling toward: strawberries and asparagus—side by side—symbols of sweetness, patience, and grounded care. Turns out I’m not the first to fall in love with this pairing.
Browse my studio, where I explore similar themes of patience, devotion, and the beauty of things that grow in their own time.
👉 [Enter the Studio]
Strawberries have been eaten by humans for thousands of years and carry deep cultural meaning across many traditions. Wild species are native to North America, South America, and Europe. A few also grow naturally in parts of East Asia, though they’re less common. The modern garden strawberry (Fragaria × ananassa) was developed in 18th-century France by crossing F. virginiana from eastern North America with F. chiloensis from Chile. This hybrid became the foundation of most strawberries grown worldwide. In Native American cultures, strawberries are sacred (especially to the Cherokee, who see them as symbols of love and renewal). In medieval Europe, they were considered both luxurious and healing. While strawberries aren’t native to Australia or most of Asia, they were introduced through colonization and trade. Today, countries like Japan, China, and Korea grow unique, high-quality varieties, often in greenhouses or mountain regions.
Beyond their cultural roots, strawberries also hold deep symbolic meaning in many spiritual and magical traditions. They are tied to Venus and the heart. They symbolize dedication, sweetness, and emotional healing. They remind us to nurture what we care about, even in tough conditions, and to trust that growth often begins quietly, even when the soil isn’t perfect.
Spiritually, strawberries are tied to Venus and the heart. They symbolize dedication, sweetness, and emotional healing. They remind us to nurture what we care about, even in tough conditions, and to trust that growth often begins quietly, even when the soil isn’t perfect.
This year, strawberries are teaching me to slow down. To tend to what’s right in front of me. To grow something even when everything isn’t in place. I’m learning to be okay with not having all the answers or tools from the start. Letting go of control and practicing patience has created more space for joy. In a world obsessed with speed and productivity, this kind of care feels like a quiet rebellion.
What about you?
Have you ever gardened with more enthusiasm than planning?
Is there a strawberry story in your life, or a plant you said yes to before you had a plan?
What’s something small you’re tending this season, even if the big picture still feels chaotic?
Even if I only get a few berries this year, the point isn’t perfection. It’s presence.
If you’re building your garden little by little this year, I see you.
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Coming Soon:
A printable strawberry growing guide and container gardening checklist, designed for chaotic seasons and neurodivergent brains.
A printable strawberry growing guide and container gardening checklist—designed for chaotic seasons and neurodivergent brains.
Want first access when it's ready? Drop your email to the right and I’ll send it to you as soon as it’s live.
